Small Town Monsters. Craig Nybo

up again.

      Kurt turned from the bumpy dirt road onto the highway and shot westward toward the police station.

      Craig Nybo

      6

      Chapter 12

      Lucy Cadano, all done up in her waitress uniform, glanced out of the kitchen of Abigail’s through the swinging doors into the dining hall. Torrence Bently—most people called him Tory—sat at table 3-b, a table that Lucy always worked and Tory knew it. Lucy walked back into the kitchen and stood against the back wall.

      “Things is hoppin’ out there,” Max said, his voice too loud in the tiled kitchen. “I need you at your tables, girl.”

      “He’s out there,” Lucy said, pointing a solitary finger towards the dining hall.

      Max came around the grill and glanced through the swinging doors. “That’s Harmon’s boy ain’t it?”

      “Harmon’s grand-boy,” Lucy said. “Harmon’s, like, ninety or something.”

      “He ain’t no creep. He’s been nothing but nice to you. Why do you cower back here whenever he comes in for a bite?”

      “That’s just it; he’s too nice. Makes me uncomfortable.”

      Max put his hands on his hips and fixed Lucy with a stern expression. “Luce, I pay you to wait tables. If you keep ‘em cold out there, they’re liable to go somewhere else. And if they go somewhere else, I can’t pay you no more.”

      “Can’t Audrie take my section? She can have the tips and

      Concerning:

      Lucy Cadano

      Torance Bently

      Max Kinootzn

      Small Town Monsters

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      everything.”

      “Audrie’s running late.”

      “Audrie’s always running late.”

      Max put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder and gently pushed her towards the dining hall. “Now get out there and make some tips, why don’t you.”

      Lucy sneered but complied. She pushed open the swinging doors of the kitchen and walked out into the lunch rush.

      Tory smiled as he spotted Lucy moving towards his table. He sat up a little straighter, pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose, and folded his hands on the Formica in front of him. She glided across the floor like a dream, her black hair whispering back and forth across her shoulders. He smiled as she came to his table, hoping the blood that rushed to his head wasn’t causing him to blush.

      “What can I get you?” Lucy opened up her little pad and drew a pencil from behind her cute, little ear.

      “You know… the usual,” Tory said.

      “Ham on Ruben with Swiss and fries and a great big, bottomless Coke; I got it.” Lucy wrote the order down on her pad and turned on her heel to head back to the kitchen, keeping her eyes on the floor.

      “Hey, Luce,” Tory said.

      Lucy turned around and looked into Tory’s eyes; they seemed to be full of stars. “Look, Tory, I—“

      “Please, just listen to me for a second.”

      “I don’t have a second.”

      “Okay, not here then, after your shift.”

      Lucy sighed. “Tory, you’re a nice boy. But I can’t go out with you.”

      “It’s not a date. I ‘m not asking you out on a date. I just want to talk for a minute. We can talk can’t we? I’ll come back after your shift and we can talk right here at this table if you want.”

      “What do you want to talk about?” Lucy smirked. Tory knew that smirk; it meant she wasn’t interested in him. But the smirk made her look pretty just the same.

      Craig Nybo

      8

      “It’s a surprise, but I think you are going to like it.”

      Lucy took in a deep breath and glanced around the dining hall. Table after table of the usual patrons sat waiting for her. “It’s not a diamond ring again is it?”

      Tory raised his right hand and extended his first three fingers into the scout symbol. “No way, scout’s honor.” He immediately felt stupid and let his hand drop back to the Formica tabletop. “But I just know you are going to love it.”

      Lucy hesitated for a long beat.

      “Lucy!” She heard Max’s voice hail out from the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder and spotted him standing at the swinging door, a reproachful scowl on his face. He flicked his head towards the nearly full dining hall and tapped his watch.

      Lucy turned back to Tory and put her pencil back behind her ear. “Fine, but I’m working a double today; I get off at ten. We’ll talk right here at this table. But I’ve already told you where I stand.”

      “No commitments, no obligations. I got it. I’ll be here precisely at ten.” Tory couldn’t hide his elation. The blood gushed into his head and he knew that his face had blushed up.

      Lucy turned to head back to the kitchen. “You look great, by the way,” Tory said. Lucy granted the boy a half smile over her shoulder as she tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear and moved toward the kitchen to put in his order: ham on Ruben with Swiss and fries and a great big, bottomless Coke.

      Craig Nybo

      4

      Chapter 13

      Kurt sat at the large, faux-wood desk in his office and opened the leather-bound book he had borrowed from Artemus. The front page bore its title in elegant, old-English print—Canis Humanus Lupus: The Cycle And Science Of The Werewolf—as if the text was based on deductive study and reason. Kurt chuckled. He flipped through the pages to get an overall view of what the book contained: countless gruesome illustrations, drawings of wolves, men, and creatures somewhere in between, all performing acts of violence.

      The illustrator used woodcut and ink, reminiscent of the sketches found in Andreas Vesalius’s two mid-16th century medical journals; Epitome and . Like Vesalius’s illustrations, those in Artimus’s book depicted flayed and fouled corpses, victims of werewolf mutilations. Each sketch detailed mangled abominations of humanity, skin torn from bodies, heads hanging from exposed sinews.

      The drawings mesmerized Kurt with their DaVinci-like intricacy—not the works of an amateur. The consistency in how the artist had drawn the werewolves’ eyes interested him, neither absolutely human nor bestial, a diabolical homogenization of both.

      After thumbing through the pages, Kurt flipped back to

      Concerning:

      Kurt McCammus

      Clay Hickman

      Harmon Bently

      Marilyn Moore

      Small Town Monsters

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      the cover. The tome, first published in 1548, offered a wealth of information. Along with teaching a comprehensive breakdown of werewolves—their habits, strengths, and weaknesses—the book chronicled prominent attacks from the early 1400’s to the mid 1500’s. Written in arcane English, each account offered more gruesome details than the last.

      Kurt read the title page.

      The subject of lycanthropy is dismal indeed; wrought with superstition and ceremony. Whole villages have perished under the claws of werebeasts. The question of lycanthropic existence alludes and is most fascinating. It must be considered both spiritually and scientifically. Only by balancing these two polarities can one truly understand the nature and